


In A Quiet Place

by Abigail (artyandabby)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, S1E12-"Faith"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:30:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2003925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artyandabby/pseuds/Abigail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Layla Rourke faces the end of her life, and a decision that could bring about a new one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In A Quiet Place

The last five minutes of Layla Rourke's life were, perhaps, the most eventful.  
She stared up at the spackled ceiling in her parents house, trying to make her breaths even and calm. Not wanting her to die in a bright, white, antiseptic room, her family had taken her carefully(so carefully)home. She concentrated on that(she wouldn't think about the tightening in her chest or the ache in her head). She tried to feel her mother's soft hands on her arms, hear her voice as she helped Layla up the steps. She thought of the creak of wood under her feet and the cold doorknob. And for a moment, she forgot.  
Then the pain came out of its ebb and she remembered.  
Layla was beginning to feel oddly light. She hurt, yes-in a thousand different ways-but she seemed to be numbing, as though some ether had leaked into the family's small drawing room. She tried to flex her fingers, dig her nails into the rough fabric of the couch, but she felt nothing.  
Anxiety struck her through the fog. She was leaving, _dying_ , like all those people had six months ago. All those people, except a pair of brothers...brothers...  
Layla had to arch her back to take a breath. Her head was aching.  
 _You can leave all this behind._  
The voice struck her like a physical shockwave, resonating through her body and coiling in the hollow of her chest. It reminded her of the firing of guns, like noise but more than noise. It weaved through her thoughts, quiet and calm.  
She would have said "Excuse me?" if she'd had the breath or forethought to do so. All she could manage was weak confusion. She tried to touch the couch again.  
 _Layla. Layla Rourke?_  
It took her slow, struggling head a moment to take it in. She knew then, with a cold certainty in the pit of her stomach that this voice was not human. She dimly heard her mother pacing the kitchen, her brothers' voices saying things in high, helpless voices. But this voice was clear.  
 _You are chosen, Layla._  
For what?, she wanted to ask. Why?  
 _For miracles._  
If she could have felt her stomach, it would have leapt. Miracles. That was a word from centuries past. Layla had heard it a lot, but she'd never considered that it might ever apply to her. She thought she closed her eyes. She concentrated, trying to aim her thoughts toward the cool voice. It felt like a prayer. _What do you mean?_  
 _You are truly admirable, Layla Rourke. Faithful among the faithless. A diamond in the rough._  
 _What do you want me for?_ , Layla pleaded. Her head was spinning. She could no longer feel her fingers, or hear her family. It was only the voice.  
The tone shifted, becoming almost urgent. _We haven't time. You are chosen._  
 _How? ___  
There was a pause, and Layla felt almost painfully afraid. What if the voice was gone? Had she asked too much? Maybe this was a test of faith. She couldn't fail. Had she already?  
Then the voice was back, dismissing her fears. _I will show you._  
Layla saw wonder. And when it fell back, she understood.  
 _Would you like to see a miracle?_  
For a long time after that, Layla was sure the angel sustained her. By all rights, she should have drifted. But she turned her head and, through cloudy eyes, she saw her family. Her mother had finally sat down. She was leaning her head on her husband's shoulder. She did not notice her daughter's open eyes. Her brothers were silhouetted. Their words drifted to her. Their voices were shaking.  
The edges around her vision were white, and her chest had ceased to rise. Layla Rourke turned her head to stare up again, thinking she could see the sky. She clutched the edges of the couch cushion. She pushed out her last breath on a word, whispered, weak, and clearly heard in a very faraway place. "Yes."  
Layla closed her eyes and let the fire fill her.  
~O~  
A pale figure wrapped in a navy blue coat too big for her still-frail frame stood atop a hillock.  
She shouldn't have come back(returning to the vessel's hometown was a no-no in the garrison's orders, as it stretched human credulity). But she just couldn't resist the temptation.  
The disappearance of a local cancer patient had caused quite a stir in the little town. Some called it crazy. Others called it attention-whoring. The parents of the girl in question claimed it was an act of God, sobbing that the Lord Above had taken their beautiful daughter in a final blaze of glory.  
She, of course, believed there to be a much more mundane cause. Their daughter had simply gotten up and walked away.  
Anyone standing close enough might have heard a soft chuckle. Just one, accompanied by a shake of the head. She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her coat, happy that it was thick. The wind was cold, and she was still unaccustomed to the feel of skin.  
The angel, with a girl's quiet laughter still ringing in her ears, turned and walked away.


End file.
